On fitting in

You know, when I first got here, I was pretty keen on not becoming one of those foreigners that spends all their time drinking in Itaewon and complaining. I'm still not, but I'm definitely circling the drain. And I'd say much of it has to do with the fact that I will never fit in here. I'm learning Korean, but it's taking forever. If I'm lucky, by the time I leave, I'll be able to grunt out a few rudimentary thoughts and earn a pat on the head for it. Even if I become insanely fluent and master all manner of etiquette and subtlety, I'll still get dragged into those dogged "Where are you from?" conversations.

But I haven't given up yet. Not depicted in this comic is me trying to cram my ungainly Western-ness into that very particular Korean mold; precisely refined by years of compounded etiquette. I'd like to think that these efforts are appreciated more than the sheer abandon shown by the fat dude in the Crocs, busting his way through.

EDIT: Here I am:

Some nomenclature

An ajumma is an old Korean lady. There is some kind of consensus among all of them that cutting your hair short, getting a perm and wearing giant Bingo hall visors is the way to go. Maybe it's social pressure. Those who do not conform are ostracized and left out of the juiciest gossip circles. Maybe they just all think it's a hot look. Regardless of the motive, the ajummatti is a force to be reckoned with. They rush into subways like a silver torrent, claiming your space like you were never entitled to it in the first place. Their seemingly innocuous trot music is no doubt riddled with codes of allegiance. Those visors? Gang colors signifying fealty to some ajumma clan or another. And you can be sure that with one phone call, they can absolutely CRIPPLE the city's supply of puffed snacks, cheap socks, backscratchers and baby chicks.

Welcome to Korea

Growing up, my elementary school had a sink that dispensed water when you stepped on a lever. The janitor kept having to replace it though because the kids who needed water kept stomping the hell out of it. Sometimes six at a time, gangland beat down style. As a teacher who provides more than just water, you can be sure that your composure will suffer a similar, if not worse, fate.

Drink up!